Ok With My Crazy

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Over time, I’ve come to accept and even love my crazy. I don’t fit into a cookie cutter mould and I’m learning that I never will. It gets easier the older I get to cope with that reality, so for any of you out there that are young and feeling like you don’t belong, embrace your uniqueness! One day you will come to love that part about yourself.

I’m a woman who falls into the “full-figured” category and for years I hated myself for this. I ached to be someone thin and petite and always felt like my life would be so much better if I was. I never considered myself attractive and didn’t believe it when others told me I was. But then, after a great deal of therapy and a lot of growing up, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am beautiful. Big bones and all. I accept myself for the person that I am and in doing so, am learning to love me. I don’t have to be a size two to be happy and neither do you.

For years, I found myself comparing the way I lived with the way I thought everyone else lived. The trouble was, I was only seeing what they wanted me to see. I believed that they had such happy perfect lives and I envied them. But now I know that nobody has perfect lives – everyone struggles at some point or another – and if I were to peel away the layer of “perfection” they were presenting to the world, I’d probably find a world of heartache lying underneath. Letting go of this idea was freeing.

I’m unique. I’m me. It doesn’t matter what others think of me because I know that I’m good and kind and decent. At the end of the day, I can lay my head down at night knowing I lived the best life I could that day. I’m ok with my crazy.

About wendyenberg

Living the best life I can with BPD, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety and PTSD. Mental illness won't stop me from achieving my dreams - it will inspire me to keep fighting harder.
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1 Response to Ok With My Crazy

  1. tahrey says:

    I have the problem of things having gone the other way … I was somewhat happy to be the weird kid at school, as it was at least an identity, and something with which to differentiate oneself in the brave, new, rapidly more connected and diversifying world of the 90s. My particular flavour of weird, whilst certainly not everyone’s cup of tea and sometimes the target of bullying, at least looked like it might have value in the onrushing future, and there were enough people I was happy to call some kind of friend who shared a bit of it.

    Then it all gradually fell apart. College dorm-mates seemed to think the oddities were cool or at least cute for the first year, at least the interesting and positive sides. But it didn’t really help with the study work, or for general socialising outside of anyone who got to know me in that quasi-domestic or a sports club setting. Had to squash it as much as possible to fit in socially overall, especially in the later years, and it increasingly interfered with getting the actual assignments done. After barely scraping through, it was even more problematic in the working environment … strife with management and trouble making any kind of friends in the workplace followed, over fifteen years, no matter how much I tried to stifle my weirdness which was mainly the point of contention, before I got any kind of proper psychological diagnosis explaining it all.

    Now I’m being told that it can once again be a positive thing and it brings all kinds of benefits that employers would actually look for … but I’m having trouble finding those, and bitter experience shows that the drawbacks need compensating for before that can happen anyway, and I’m having trouble getting that. So I’m still rather in a position of hating my crazy and wishing I didn’t have it, because right now I can’t see any upside in it, at least none that’s actually of any value – to me or other people. I mean… not all difference is worthwhile, even if it’s nominally “interesting”.

    Serial killers are interesting. Failure modes in suspension bridges are interesting. You don’t really want to employ or become intimately familiar with either of those. And now people are also trying to tell me to own it and embrace it as a primary or even single identity, as a main character trait, something that can’t be divorced from the rest of me? Screw that. I’d take a pill for it if I could (but, there isn’t one), because that would give me an easy route to sufficient normality and operating capacity to actually get on in the world without having to painstakingly carve out some weird little niche that I’m ill equipped to do myself (for want of both energy and skill) and no-one seems that prepared to actually help with outside of meaningless lip service.

    Maybe I can build a time machine and go back to my earlier school days, or the first year of uni, where the eccentricity was charming and I hadn’t yet realised the root of it or the difficulties it would cause. That’d be nice. Can’t see any other field in which I can make a living with it, rather than simply suppressing it better than I have done in the past.

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